'An idealist', of course, being the nice, polite sort of way of wording it, and much less the much more colorful way Nathan was thinking of Peter in his mind right now. Twenty-six years of knowing the guy and he definitely got more privileges in the way of cursing Peter and his stubborn-ass Petrelli ways. "The physical harm isn't so much of a problem, which... from what I'm hearing from everybody else, you probably know of by now." Crash-landing here, still burned up... God, if any of this ever leaked...

Which was exactly how Nathan thought of Peter, naturally. A boy. His little annoying brother, who kept trying to stick his fingers onto the hot stove just to see if the thing would actually burn him like Nathan had said, for lack of a better metaphor. "He's... had enough of run-ins with Sylar, actually," Nathan admitted, rubbing at his chin. God, seeing Peter with that glass in his head, that glassy look in his eyes... Nathan had totally lost it. He really didn't need a repeat of that, thanks. "And, you know, keeping tabs on him? Little harder than it looks."